


Dare You To Move

by whiskyandwildflowers



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, I do what I want, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Rimming, Season 8 is irrelevant, Semi-Public Sex, Service Top Shiro (Voltron), Shiro fucks Keith up against a hoverbike so there's that, Sparring, Truth or Dare, it's horny hours but also pining and laughing hours too, the adherence to canon is...loose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 14:38:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskyandwildflowers/pseuds/whiskyandwildflowers
Summary: Five times Shiro and Keith play Truth or Dare.(And one time it doesn't quite go as planned)
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 39
Kudos: 357





	Dare You To Move

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a fun little idea I had in my head where Shiro and Keith use Truth or Dare as a running game between them. I like to think of this as like...deleted scenes from canon.
> 
> I hope you have as much fun reading it as I did writing it! <3

“Truth or dare?” 

Keith flicks his eyes up from his readings to where Shiro is grinning at him across the table in the Garrison library. He’s leaning back in his chair with a pen sticking out of his mouth and his uniform collar unbuttoned, the picture of casual grace. It’s after midnight on the last Friday of the semester before exams, and Keith’s seen this version of Shiro before. It’s the bored and stressed version of Shiro, who’s already had enough of sitting down with his books and going over flight patterns for the day—a lethal combination. 

“Dare,” Keith replies, never one to back down from a challenge—and the glint in Shiro’s eyes is definitely a challenge. Shiro’s grin is practically blinding as he narrows his eyes and takes in their surroundings. 

“Okay, okay, here’s what you’re gonna do,” Shiro whispers urgently, reaching into his backpack and hauling out a crinkling plastic packet, earning nasty glances from some of the more stressed out students around them. “I dare you to try and eat this entire bag of trail mix before Lieutenant Cross notices.” Lieutenant Cross is the severe library manager with the strictest No Food Allowed policy Keith’s ever seen. 

“What do I get if I do it?”

"That's not the point of the game," Shiro counters, then pauses. “I’ll buy you pizza?” Shiro waggles his eyebrows in a way that Keith’s sure is supposed to be enticing.

“Fuck it, fine, hand it over,” Keith hisses, and Shiro slides the contraband across to him. It’s been so long since they’ve been able to just hang out, between classes and Shiro prepping for his mission to Kerberos, their hoverbikes are collecting dust and Keith’s been crawling out of his skin. 

Shiro leans on the table, chin in his hands, watching Keith like a fucking hawk. “How’re you even going to open that up without setting the entire library loose on you? Packaging’s not exactly stealth.”

“Just because I’m not a fucking Boy Scout like you doesn’t mean I don’t come prepared,” Keith snorts, as quietly as fucking possible. He grabs a knife from his pencil case and Shiro’s eyebrows fly skyward. 

“Should’ve known you had something like that on you, oh my God.”

Keith just smirks as he silently cuts a slit in the loud plastic packaging. Shiro’s eyes are burning a hole into him, his gaze catching Keith’s every move, and Keith’s heart is racing. It’s just a stupid fucking dare to eat some trail mix because his best friend is bored and overtired. It’s nothing. It’s _ nothing. _

If Keith’s hands shake a little as he slowly tries to extract an individual peanut, that’s his business. 

“This is going to take you hours if you’re just going to go one piece at a time,” Shiro whispers again, brow furrowed and the beginnings of a pout starting to form. He hates losing, but so does Keith.

“Wasn’t aware there was a time limit,” Keith says, shrugging and laying the cover of his book over the packet on the desk to hide it a little more. It_ is _ going to take forever, but being stuck in the library with Shiro isn’t exactly a hardship. 

“Wasn’t aware you were ever such a stickler for rules,” Shiro shoots back at him, rolling his eyes as Keith picks out another piece of something from the bag of trail mix. Of fucking course it’s a raisin. Gross. 

Shiro thunks his head on the table and Keith feels the rush of an early victory bubbling up in him. This is something he loves, competing with Shiro. Shiro’s a bit of a god at the Garrison—the students revere him, the instructors use him as their prime example constantly. And if Keith’s really honest with himself, he’s definitely kind of awestruck all the time that Shiro’s picked him, a nobody fuckup orphan, to spend most of this time with.

But Shiro has a competitive streak, a fun side he rarely gets to let loose. He never really says it, but Keith knows he’s tired of being put on a pedestal and idolized. And while Shiro’s attention makes his knees go a little wobbly in a way he doesn’t want to think about, Keith’s always happy to rise to the occasion and give Shiro what he needs. 

A challenge. 

A distraction.

A friend. 

And as Keith cautiously raises a red M&M up to his mouth, Shiro lets out an enormous, obvious cough that gets the attention of literally every person in the library. Shiro is good and kind and driven, but right now Shiro is also a sore fucking loser and a dirty rotten cheater. 

“Kogane! Shirogane!” Lieutenant Cross’s bark carries above the hushed din of the library as he rounds on their table, and Shiro’s already out of his chair like his pants are on fire as Keith scrambles to shove everything into his bag.

“Hi sir, sorry sir, we were just leaving,” Shiro calls out brightly with a slightly sloppy salute and a little wink back at Keith as he rushes past before Cross can write them up for anything. Keith bolts for the other exit, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He doesn’t really care about getting into trouble—Keith knows about the reputation he’s gotten, so what’s one more smudge or black mark on his record. It isn’t fear of getting caught that lights him up, it’s excitement. Shiro always toes the line, so being the one who’s in on a joke with him, who’s part of the excitement, is exhilarating. It’s a sense of freedom Keith never gets within the rigid confines of the Garrison. 

He never gets it, unless he’s with Shiro. 

Shiro’s his freedom, and it makes Keith’s pulse skyrocket and his breath stutter.

He practically collides with Shiro on the other side of the doors, and the sight of Shiro pink-cheeked and breathless makes Keith feel…funny. 

“Why. The fuck. Would you do that,” Keith wheezes, trying to catch his breath as Shiro heaves with laughter and slings an arm across his shoulders. 

“It could’ve gone all night! Come on, did you seriously want to spend your Friday night cooped up in there,” Shiro laughs. And Keith would spend his Friday night anywhere if it’s with Shiro, although he’s not going to fucking say that. 

“You just didn’t want me to win,” Keith mutters darkly, poking Shiro in the chest, which just makes Shiro squeeze him tighter.

“Nah, you can have a do-over—I’ll think of something better,” Shiro says. “But I’m crazy hungry, and I’ll buy you that pizza anyway. Let’s get out of here!”

As usual, Shiro’s right—eating pizza is a much better way to spend a Friday night.

* * *

They’re in Keith’s little desert cabin, and it’s been a year since he’d last seen Shiro. The others have gone for food and Keith can’t bring himself to be embarrassed about their surroundings. It’s been a year of searching, a year of sleeping on his dirty couch and eating cold random food out of cans. It’s been a year of tirelessly scouring the desert, mapping signals, and yelling fruitlessly up at the stars in any insane attempt to try and bring Shiro back home. It’s been a year of loneliness and desperation and solitude. 

Keith had gotten used to being alone before Shiro, and it was much harder to deal with after him.

Keith had _ refused _ to deal with it—refused to get used to it. 

But now Shiro’s here. He’s here, minus an arm, and he’s quiet. There’s a new kind of energy that Keith can feel simmering under Shiro’s surface, and it doesn’t scare him, but it’s unlike anything Keith’s ever felt from him. Keith’s seen Shiro stressed, and tense. He’s seen him nervous and tired. 

Keith’s never seen this before. 

It’s a quiet intensity that Shiro’s too controlled to let boil over. He studies the papers Keith’s tacked up on the walls with an emotion Keith can’t place. 

“Hey, Shiro,” Keith ventures tentatively, shattering the silence between them. 

“Yeah?” Shiro smiles softly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Truth or dare?”

Shiro visibly startles at that, then huffs out a laugh. “I—that’s not what I was expecting.”

“Truth or dare?” Keith urges again. He needs this. They both need just one normal thing before they start to deal with the past fucking year. 

Shiro waits another beat, and Keith really hopes he hasn’t done the wrong thing. It’s stupid, he should have been more sensitive, of fucking course Shiro doesn’t want to play a stupid goddamn game with him any more—

“Truth,” Shiro says softy, pulling Keith away from his internal guilt spiral. 

“Are you okay?” Keith asks.

“Yeah I—”

“No, Shiro, are you okay? Truth, remember.” And Keith knows, of course Shiro’s not okay. He can’t be okay. 

“It—it was hard. It was really, really hard.” Shiro’s voice breaks a little and he clears his throat, not meeting Keith’s eyes. “I didn’t know that I would ever get back here again.”

The words are a knife through Keith’s gut, sharp and unforgiving. The wound of their year apart is raw and fresh, and guilt churns in him again. Shiro’s the one who’s been through hell and back, what right does Keith have to feel like this?

“I knew you would,” Keith says fiercely, swallowing down what feels like a fucking baseball-sized lump of everything he’s feeling. 

“I did everything I could to try and make it back.” Pain flickers across Shiro’s features, a brief flash of hurt and terror before he obviously forces his face into a less troubled expression. He’s still so handsome, and Keith can admit that, if only to himself. But the scar across his nose and the alien tech welded to his arm raise so many questions about what he’d had to do to stay alive. He’s bigger now too—muscled and broad and cutting an imposing figure in the middle of Keith’s makeshift little shack. 

A year is a long time. 

“You’re home now,” Keith says. The words are stuck in his mouth. They’re hard to get out, and Keith’s afraid if he starts talking, he’ll end up saying too much. He’s had a lot of time, months and months of it, to focus on what he’d lost. 

_ I missed you, this year was so fucking unbearable, I’ve been so alone, I missed you. _

“I’m home,” Shiro agrees. “And you know what I missed?” 

Keith’s heart almost literally fucking stops and, unbidden, the word _ you _ leaps out into his mind.

“What?” Keith asks, shaking his head a little like a waterlogged dog to get those uninvited words out of his head.

Shiro studies him for a second, like he’s turning his words over in his head.

“Mac and cheese,” Shiro finally laughs with a sharp and familiar glint in his eyes that’s almost enough to soothe the unwelcome, surprising disappointment in Keith’s chest.

Keith rolls his eyes, their moment broken. “Dare you to try and convince Lance that you can read his mind now or something.” And Shiro throws his head back into a genuine laugh then.

“Maybe later,” he concedes, and Keith leaves it for now. The others would be back soon, anyway.

Shiro’s home, and Keith can breathe again. 

* * *

Space is fucking huge. Space is huge, and now there are fucking robot lions, and they’re soaring through the cosmos on an insane alien castle ship. 

Keith’s life got really weird _ really _quickly. 

The Paladins are on a comms link with an ambassador from a nearby planet, hoping to gather some extra resources for this fight with the Galra. Unfortunately, this guy is the driest, the most boring, _ and _the most talkative individual Keith has ever had the misfortune to come across. And that’s saying something since he now spends a lot of time in close quarters with Lance. They’ve been on this call for an hour already, and Keith can feel his teeth grinding as he wishes for death. Even Allura, who is so patient and graceful, looks like she wants to reach into the holoscreen and strangle the guy to put them all out of their misery. 

Keith’s doodling on his datapad, little stick figure ambassadors meeting the business end of his knife, when a message pings through.

_ [Truth or Dare?] _

Keith looks up from his datapad where Shiro is studiously ignoring him, obviously completely pretending to pay attention to the ambassador who’s droning on and on about some plant native to his planet, that isn’t edible, isn’t medicinal, and so Keith doesn’t know why the fuck they need to be interested in it. They needed resources, not a botany lesson.

**[dare] **Keith fires back.

_ [Dare you to get us both out of this meeting] _

Keith snorts. He wouldn’t have even needed Shiro to dare him to do this. He’s so desperate to cut out of this meeting he could cry. But obviously he prefers it if Shiro’s around. 

**[barely a dare. what’s in it for me?]**

_ [My undying gratitude? Sparring session to blow off some steam?] _

And isn’t _ that _ motivating. Keith squashes the flare of _ something _ that lights up in him as he clicks off his datapad and scoots his chair back, interrupting whatever the ambassador was continuing to say about useless plants. 

“Just remembered—Red’s due for some maintenance and Shiro said he’d help out with the, uh, fuel lines,” Keith starts.

“Fuel lines—” Lance squawks, but Shiro cuts him off. 

“Yes, so sorry Ambassador Herdax, but this really is incredibly urgent,” Shiro is stammering, and Jesus, he really is such a bad actor. Allura’s glaring daggers as they both rush out.

“I feel like I’m gonna get in trouble for cutting class or something,” Shiro laughs as they make their way down to the practice area to get changed.

“You’re fine. They’re just jealous they didn’t think of this first and now they’re stuck listening to that guy.”

They go their separate ways to change into their spare workout clothes that are stashed there. Keith hauls on an old black t-shirt and loose black shorts, tying back some of his hair into a sloppy little ponytail. He and Shiro have been doing this a lot lately, coming down to spar and train. Keith craves this kind of physical exertion, and Shiro’s always had a lot of energy to work out of his system. Now that they’re in the middle of a war, it seems logical to try and hone their combat skills.

If Keith has a lot of fun doing that, nobody needs to know. 

As he’s dragging out some of the mats to set up, Keith cracks his back and rolls his shoulders, stretching out a little. By the time Shiro emerges finally, dressed in—_Jesus_—dressed in a painted-on tank top and low slung sweats, Keith is lying on his back on one of the mats, pulling his thigh towards his head and stretching out his hamstring.

Shiro’s workout clothes have become a lot for Keith to handle lately, and Keith stares at the ceiling while he stretches, trying to will away the flush he can feel rising as his cheeks heat.

“Are you, uh, are you stretched and ready to go?” And Shiro starts coughing a little as he turns his back to Keith and walks to the other side of where the mats are set up.

Oh._ God. _ This is going to be fucking torture.

Keith’s been really good at keeping his gross and inconvenient feelings under wraps. He thinks. He hopes. It’s Shiro, his best friend in the entire galaxy who he loves more than anyone. And maybe he’s been having some decidedly _not_ platonic feelings about him lately. And _ maybe _ he’s also been having some very interesting dreams about him lately too. Maybe he realized that the swooping feeling in his stomach when he hears Shiro’s laugh means something more than friendship. But that’s Keith’s business and it doesn’t have to affect anyone else. 

He’s dealing with it. It’s _ fine _.

Keith clears his throat. “Yeah, uh, I’m good to go whenever you are.”

“Great! Perfect!” Shiro says brightly. Weirdly. He counts down and they go at each other.

Keith feels like a fucking animal as he dodges Shiro’s hits and lunges. While they’re sparring, it's as if there’s nothing else going on in the world. Keith’s focus is singular and time loses all meaning as he clocks Shiro’s every move and calculates where to go next. Sweat drips over the nape of his neck and down into the small of his back, his t-shirt clinging to the muscles there. 

He slides between Shiro’s legs, grabbing onto his ankle as he goes and hauling Shiro down onto the mat, but Shiro’s just as fast, managing to regain his bearings and pulling Keith up against him.

They push and pull against each other on the mat, grappling and holding each other, trying to get the edge anywhere. It should be gross, it should really be kind of gross, the way they’re sweating all over each other. But it _isn’t_. Now on his back with Shiro’s thick thighs pinning him to the mat, it’s about as far from gross as Keith could get. 

Keith’s completely possessed by whatever is happening here. God, the urge to just rub up against Shiro is strong. He wants to just bury his face everywhere in Shiro, to lick the drops of sweat away where they fall down the tendons in his neck, or to lean forward bite down on his pecs. Jesus, Keith _ wants _.

And this sort of wanting is reaching a critical level in Keith’s shorts with his dick paying very close attention to the proceedings, a needy throbbing urge making itself known pretty clearly. By the time Shiro growls out a raspy _ yield _ to him, his face flushed and eyes dark, Keith freezes. He can feel Shiro’s breath blow hot across his face and the whole situation goes right to his fucking dick. Keith’s never been one to yield or back down, but Shiro can’t know what forty-five minutes of sparring has done to him, so he tries to angle away and break free one last time. It’s no use—Shiro has him and Keith can either push back and let his fucking fight-boner ruin the party, or he can tap out. So he does, and Shiro lets him go.

The air is heavy between them as Keith gets to his feet. The only sound in the quiet gym is their breathing, heavy and panting and gasping. Shiro pushes his sweaty bangs back and turns away, tugging at the waistband of his sweats.

“I’m gonna—” Keith starts, hurrying for the lockers so Shiro won’t see his dick.

“Uh, yeah. Good session, good job.” Shiro’s still turned away from him, and it’s weird. The whole thing is weird. And awkward, for the first time ever, and Keith’s sure it’s just on his end. Of course it is. He feels wrongfooted, but also like if he doesn’t get his hand on his dick soon, he might actually pass out.

Maybe he should have stayed at the meeting. 

* * *

They won. 

The overhead lights in the hospital hurt Keith’s eyes as he eventually comes to again.

_They won_.

It’s hard for him to muster the strength to be excited when his entire body feels like it crash-landed into Earth. Because it did. 

He’s tired. He’s so tired. It’s been such a long journey to get to this point. His mom and Kolivan must have left, but he can still feel a warm weight against his side and a hand holding his.

_ Shiro _. 

Keith doesn’t really have anything positive to say about war and battle, but it was definitely a great distraction from _ this— _from his irritating, gut-wrenching, unrequited, and unfortunately extremely horny feelings for Shiro. 

Shiro’s asleep in a chair next to the bed, half slumped over on top of him and gripping his hand. Keith’s heart burns and he wants to fucking cry. He squeezes Shiro’s hand and pretends that this is real. He pretends that Shiro loves him that way and that’s why he’s here by his bedside, not because he’s an amazing fucking _ friend _. Keith’s incredibly injured, so he’s allowed to indulge an unrealistic romantic fantasy for a little bit.

In his sleep Shiro shifts, making little snuffling sounds, and Keith wonders if you can actually die from this—from watching the person you love sleep. 

Keith squeezes the hand holding his, trying not to move too much, but Shiro stirs again. 

“Keith,” Shiro slurs, slowly coming back to himself. “Keith! Fuck, you’re awake, thank God.” He doesn’t drop Keith’s hand. 

“How long’ve you been here?” Keith asks, his voice rusty through disuse and lips dry and cracked.

Shiro moves then, getting Keith a glass of water and holding it up to his lips, and while Keith laments the loss of Shiro’s warmth, he absolutely doesn’t hate the situation. 

The water is clean and cool and refreshing, and Keith can’t remember the last time it tasted so good to him. 

“Easy,” Shiro laughs softly as Keith gulps down giant mouthfuls of water, one hand on Keith’s back to steady him, and the other tipping the glass to his mouth.

“How’re you doing?” Keith asks as Shiro continues to hold him upright, his palm a hot and insistent weight against Keith’s back. They’re so fucking close right now, Keith could practically count his eyelashes—can see the arced shadows they make across his cheekbones.

Shiro huffs. “I should be asking you that.”

“ ‘M fine,” Keith says with a shake of his head, then wincing because, fuck, that hurts.

“Keith, I—we almost—you could’ve,” Shiro starts and restarts, stumbling over his words like they’re stuck in his mouth. His thumb is rubbing tiny circles that Keith can feel through the thin shirt he’s wearing, and the entire world is dialed into the way Shiro is holding him, how close he is, and how good it feels. There’s something Shiro wants to say, Keith can feel it. It hangs in the air almost like some tangible thing that Keith is _ this close _to being able to reach out and grab. 

“Truth or dare,” Keith whispers, looking Shiro dead in the eyes. Maybe it’s because he’s hurt and tired. Maybe it’s because they’ve gone through years of being torn apart and clawing their way back to each other. Maybe it’s because he just _ wants _ this so fucking badly that he can’t take it any more. Whatever it is, Keith is ready to jump. 

He’s ready to jump and maybe Shiro needs a push. 

Shiro’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, his eyes searing into Keith’s.

“Truth.”

“Do you want this?” _ Do you want me? _ It’s blunt, Keith knows. But Keith is a knife, sharp and cutting and lethal. He always has been. 

“Keith—” Shiro’s eyes are wide.

“Do you want this? What am I to you? How can you just—just _ hold _ me like this?” Everything is spilling out of Keith in an insane verbal tidal wave. Everything he’s been trying to ignore and push as far down into his soul as possible is tumbling out of his mouth and he’s helpless to stop it. 

“Whoa, whoa, hey,” Shiro soothes, his normally steady hand trembling where it’s still rubbing Keith’s back. Keith’s stomach swoops and churns, and if he wasn’t so broken he’d get up and run as far away from the whole thing as possible. He can’t catch his breath, and he can picture his tombstone now: _ Here lies Keith, who died because he loved his best friend too much and couldn’t keep it to his fucking self. _

“It’s okay Shiro—” 

“I can’t lose you,” Shiro says softly. “I need you. Keith, I need you so fucking bad. I can’t do this without you.”

“Do what?”

“Anything. You’re everything And I—God, I’m so bad at this, fuck, but I just can’t go it alone any more,” Shiro chokes out, eyes glassy as he looks away.

“I need you too,” Keith says. “I want you. I love you, and I’ve lost you too many times.”

“You’re not alone any more,” Shiro starts. “You don’t need—”

“I do,” Keith cuts him off. “I need you, Shiro.”

Shiro sets the glass he’d been holding down and cups Keith’s cheek with his metal hand. It’s warmer than he thought it’d be, but maybe that’s just Shiro. He strokes carefully along Keith’s cheekbones, his thumb across Keith’s mouth, and Keith _ burns _with it.

“Truth or dare?” Keith asks again, trying so hard to keep his voice steady and sure.

“It’s maybe been a while since we’ve played this, but I think it’s my turn,” Shiro smirks, rubbing a tiny circle into Keith’s jaw.

“Dare you to kiss me,” Keith continues, his heart stuttering so hard in his chest he’s almost sure Shiro could hear it somehow. 

And Shiro does—a hot brush of lips that makes Keith’s brain short circuit. Keith’s not used to getting what he wanted. He’s barely let himself want anything because that only leads to disappointment, in his experience. 

As Keith loses himself to Shiro, as he lets himself fall and feel everything all at once, he feels like he’s _ won _.

_ I love you _ Shiro murmurs against his mouth and, yeah, Keith feels like a fucking winner.

* * *

The garage is deserted by the time Shiro and Keith are back from their hoverbike run. After everything they’ve been through, he’ll never take their time together for granted and Keith loves that they can escape for a few hours and just _ fly _.

It’s been a few months since the end of the war and since he and Shiro—

“Baby,” Shiro snugs up behind him, crowding him against his hoverbike, his breath hot against the nape of Keith’s neck. God, he’ll never get tired of the fact that they can do this now—they can touch each other as much as they want. Keith’s _ allowed _ . Shiro _ wants _ him to. 

Keith arches back into Shiro’s touch, baring his neck to him even further, and not-so-subtly pushing his ass against him. Keith’s only fucking human.

Half-human, anyway. 

“Baby,” Shiro says again, nosing against Keith’s hair. “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Keith says as he spins in Shiro’s grasp to face him, leaning against his hoverbike and gripping Shiro’s narrow hips. _ Jesus _, how did he ever live his life before without being able to do this.

Shiro presses them together chest to chest, and Keith can practically smell the adrenaline radiating from him. Shiro’s got that clean boy smell, a little sweaty from their ride, and Keith wants to roll around in it forever. 

“Dare you to let me suck you off right here,” Shiro grins, pressing a kiss against Keith’s neck and adding some teeth to the whole situation. 

“Not a very challenging dare,” Keith responds, raising a brow as heat flares in his belly and he looks around the garage. It’s late, nobody’ll be down here. But still, someone could _ see _.

Shiro pulls back a little, pinning Keith under the weight of his full earnest, good boy stare. “If you don’t want to we don’t—”

“Come on then, sweetheart,” Keith groans before he can think too hard about it, moving his hands up to Shiro’s ridiculously broad shoulders and urging him down a little. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”

Shiro drops down to his knees faster than Keith’s ever seen. 

He nuzzles his face against Keith’s denim-clad thigh, gripping Keith’s hips and slipping his thumbs under the waistband of his jeans.

“Tick tock,” Keith grins, running a shaky hand through Shiro’s bangs.

“Wasn’t aware there was a time limit,” Shiro snarks as he reaches for the fly of Keith’s jeans and peels them down his thighs. “I just want you to feel good, baby, there’s no need to rush.”

Keith’s insides feel molten as everything Shiro says and does goes straight to his fucking dick. Every coherent thought evacuates his brain as the blood rushes south, and his entire world narrows to Takashi Shirogane, on his knees in a goddamn parking garage, rubbing Keith’s cock through the thin cotton of his underwear.

“Fuck, Shiro,” Keith thrusts his hips forward and Shiro braces him with a firm hand, finally freeing Keith’s dick from his underwear. It bobs against Keith’s belly, rubbing against the edge of where his t-shirt is rucked up a little.

“Look at you,” Shiro breathes, his exhalation ghosting over Keith’s flushed and sensitive dick. He kisses the tip, and Keith is actually going to _die_ if he doesn’t get some friction soon. 

Shiro takes his time, holding Keith in place with one hand and gently gripping the base of Keith’s dick with the other. It’s obscene. It’s so fucking obscene the way Shiro’s full mouth stretches over Keith’s dick, the way he gazes up so lovingly at Keith as he lavishes him with attention, his nose brushing against the hair on Keith's belly as Shiro takes him down completely. Only Shiro could suck dick _ lovingly _, Jesus.

Every now and then, he lightly scrapes his teeth across the hard, hot flesh, jolting Keith into reality and sending sparks flaring up from the base of his spine.

“Shiro, _ Christ _, God, you’re so fucking good at this, yes, you’re so good—” Keith babbles, obscenities and endearments flying from his lips as Shiro’s talented mouth and tongue work him towards the edge. Shiro slips his hand from where it's been holding Keith in place down the back of his jeans. The touch of one of Shiro’s metal fingers brushing over his hole makes Keith want to scream, and he thrusts forward gasping at the sensation.

Shiro pulls off with a slick pop. “Easy, baby.”

“Do you have—fuck, do you have stuff? I know you do,” Keith grunts. And he’s left panting as Shiro goes over to his bike and pops open one of the compartments.

“Of fucking course you have lube in a parking garage,” Keith pants as Shiro smirks and gets back down on his knees, spinning Keith to face the bike again. 

“Don’t hear you complaining,” Shiro says as he pulls Keith’s underwear down past the swell of his ass. 

“You’re gonna feel so good, I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good,” Shiro groans as he bites at Keith’s ass and strokes over his hole. Keith grips the side of the hoverbike like he’s holding on for dear life as Shiro licks at his ass like he’s dying for it. He teases Keith’s rim with the tip of his tongue, barely breaching the muscle as Keith loses his fucking mind. The sounds he’s making—the sounds Shiro’s making as he eats Keith out like it’s his last fucking meal—fill the parking garage. 

The metal of the bike is cold against the hot flesh of Keith’s cock as he ruts against it, needy for the slightest bit of friction as the tip of Shiro’s finger, flesh this time, breaches him. Keith’s a disaster, an absolute fucking disaster. He can feel himself dripping with spit and lube, and he can’t believe the sounds that are coming out of him when Shiro crooks his finger _just right_—animalistic grunts and groans. And it’s fitting really, since Shiro drives him so fucking crazy, like a feral fucking animal. 

Keith turns his face into the soft seat of the hoverbike, the leather cool against his flushed face. “Shiro, fuck, I need—”

Shiro pulls away from where he’s been licking and sucking. “I love you, baby, can I, please—”

“Yeah, fuck sweetheart, do it, come on—”

He hears the sound of Shiro slicking up his cock, and he pushes into Keith in a single, hot slide. And, God, it’s so much. He’s so full of Shiro, as close as two people can possibly be. 

It’s everything as Shiro fucks into him, wrapping one arm against Keith’s chest and stroking his cock with the other as Keith braces himself against the bike. Shiro bites at his ear, murmuring incoherently—things like _ baby, love, mine, always— _unintelligible things that make Keith’s legs wobbly.

His orgasm approaches quickly then, with Shiro continually nudging that tender spot inside of him and rubbing the head of his cock with a gentle thumb. 

“Shiro I—”

“Yeah, okay, yeah—”

And Keith shudders, pulsing hot against the side of his bike and squeezing Shiro like a vice. He can feel when Shiro tips over then too, filling Keith with his release and biting against his shoulder.

As they pull apart, Keith grimaces, now aware of the fucking mess he’s in, his clothes covered in come and lube and sweat.

“We got jizz on my bike,” he frowns, wrinkling his nose. 

Shiro runs a hand through his sweaty bangs. “You mean _ you _ got jizz on your bike.”

“Dare you to clean it off for me,” Keith laughs as he tries to rearrange himself into something halfway presentable. 

Shiro laughs as he wipes his hand against his pants. “What’s in it for me if I do?”

“I’m sure I could make it worth your while.”

* * *

“Trick or treat?” Keith hears Shiro’s sleepy little mumble coming from the other side of the bed.

“Shiro—what?” Keith asks, laughing as he shakes some of the sleep fog from his head and rolls over. He slides his palm over Shiro’s back as his eyes adjust to the darkness. Shiro is practically facedown into his pillow, his handsome face smushed, a little drool escaping from his soft mouth. Keith can’t fucking get enough. Shiro’s so relaxed like this, he sleeps deeply with Keith in the bed next to him now, and it’s ridiculous that a man like Shiro can look so fucking _ cute _ when he’s half-asleep. 

Shiro grunts and squirms, wriggling his way over to Keith and mashing his face into his side. “Fuck, I dunno, what was I saying?” His voice is soft and sleepy, and Keith loves him so fucking much.

“I don’t really know what you were saying,” Keith laughs again, running his fingers through Shiro’s soft, warm hair. 

Shiro hums and stirs again, haphazardly swiping a hand over his face. “I think I meant truth or dare. What did I say?”

“Trick or treat,” Keith huffs, continuing to stroke Shiro’s hair.

Shiro snorts. “Oops, shit.”

They lie together in silence for a while, wrapped around each other as sleep begins to overtake them once more. 

“Dare you to stay with me forever,” Shiro murmurs into Keith’s chest. 

“You're sappy when you're tired,” Keith teases fondly in a sleep-roughened drawl.

“You love it though.”

“Yeah, yeah I really fucking do.”

Not even a dare could make him move.

**Author's Note:**

> The Trick or Treat joke is because I accidentally wrote that instead of Truth or Dare a couple of times when I was writing this, and I decided to amuse myself with an extra little joke.
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/whiskyandwflwrs) where it's always Shiro loving hours!


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